“Priti!” I gasp. “What if his parents are in there?”
“They’re not. It’s before five, so they’re at work. Besides, they’ve known me forever.”
I glance at her sideways, pushing my hair behind my ears. I suddenly feel self-conscious, because this is probably the first time Rudra and I will have a proper conversation. Face-to-face. In his fancy house.
“Open up,” Priti mutters, ringing the doorbell again. She is unusually impatient for someone who isnotprepping to crash a weddingDDLJ-style and slay her first kiss.
Speaking of...
“Hey, Priti, can I ask you something?” I say hesitantly. Now that I’m going to have to spend the next couple of days cramped in a car with her and Rudra, I should probably get some things cleared so I don’t... ahem, walk in on something. What if I, like, went for a pee break and came back to find them making out in the car? It doesn’t even have tinted windows!
“Just because we’re both here doesn’t mean we have to forcea conversation, you know?” Priti says, narrowing her eyes at me. I start to regret saying anything at all, because what else could I have expected from her other than an icy shutdown?
But my curiosity gets the better of me. “It’s about you. And, erm, Rudra.”
“Not you too.” Priti groans.
I raise my hands in defense. “Don’tEt tu, Brute?me. It certainly looks like it.”
“Looks likewhat?”
“Like you’re screwing.”
The inner door opens with a beep, and Rudra appears on the other side. Priti guffaws as he looks at us both through the grille, eyes widening briefly. Something clicks, and the second door opens outward, revealing him in a half-sleeved blue T-shirt and shorts. His hair is loose and looks surprisingly silky, tips waving by his chin and along his temples.
“Why’re you laughing?” Rudra says, and flicks his gaze to me as if to sayAnd what the hell isshedoing here?
“Krishna thinks we’re screwing.” Priti shoves past him and into the house. She takes off her black boots on her way in. There’s a shoe shelf right next to the door, as is the case in most Asian households.
“You came all the way here to tell me that?” Rudra walks in after her.
Realizing there’s a high possibility they’ve left me stranded outside, I dart in, pulling the outer door shut behind me and slipping off my shoes. The inner door shuts on its own, and there’s another beep and a click, the lock activated.
“No, I came here to have sex with you,” Priti says, blowing Rudra a kiss before flopping onto one of the recliners angled toward the massive home-theater system.
“Okay...” Rudra seats himself on the long sofa.
His apartment isn’t an apartment; it’s apenthouse.It’s massive, with floor-to-ceiling glass windows and sliding doors offering a panoramic view of Mumbai. The wallpaper has a sandpaper texture—which I’m assuming is just an illusion because of the contouring—and a burgundy backdrop with detailed Warli art painted on it in off-white. Everything from the furniture to the carpeting, partitions, and flooring has been designed in a palette of browns and beiges, complementing the murals well. It’s classy, exquisite, and clearly expensive.
“Don’t be shy, Krishna.” Priti tilts her head to look at me. “Rudra’s my sugar daddy. Come sit.”
I make a beeline for the recliner next to Priti’s, dodging the cream living room rug because Mummy would kill me for getting my dirty feet on it (she’s not here, but her indoctrination is deep). The recliner dips below me as if it’s about to swallow me whole, and I very nearly moan as I sink into it.
“What took you so long to open the door?” Priti directs the question at Rudra, pressing a button on the side of the recliner to push it back farther so she’s at a one-hundred-and-twenty-degree angle.
“I had my headphones on.” Rudra glances at me again. When Priti doesn’t lead the conversation forward, I decide I better start breaking the ice with the two of them or I’m going to have a very, very awkward couple of days.
“So—” I bite my lip. “Are you?”
“Screwing?” Priti says, putting her hand to her head dramatically.“Obviously.”
I can’t tell if she’s being serious or sarcastic, but there’s no point in prodding further if she doesn’t want to disclose the status of their relationship. Rudra isn’t being particularly helpful either, becausehe doesn’t say anything to rebuke or affirm what Priti’s saying. Instead, he clears his throat and asks, “So, uh, why are you both here, exactly?”
Priti grins. “We’re going on a road trip, so we need your car. And you, but only because you won’t let me drive.”
“Road trip? To where?”
“Goa.”
